Fixer
by SiriusMarauderFan
Summary: Grief-stricken, Hermione finds a way to send herself back to her eleven-year-old body. AU. one shot.


**Author's** **Note** : Written for…

Ultimate Hermione Competition II. _Prompt_ : Hermione wakes up in her eleven-year-old body on the day she received her Hogwarts letter

 **Fixer**

She was in pain the moment she woke up. Excruciating, blinding. It pulsed through her whole body, paralyzing her. She couldn't think through it to recall what had caused the pain. She'd been stunned, tortured, on the brink of death before. None of it ever felt like this.

When the pain finally subsided what seemed like hours later, Hermione was dripping with sweat, blinking up at her bedroom ceiling. She remembered now.

The room spun as she moved to get up, but she pushed through the nausea and made her way to the bathroom at a snail's pace. She hesitated turning the lights on for fear of aggravating pain in her head again, but took the risk.

Hermione stood in front of the sink, gripping tightly to the counter to stay upright. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to the mirror and breathed a sigh of relief. Bushy hair, buck teeth, and about a foot and a half shorter than she used to be.

"It worked," she said. Her voice sounded different, a bit higher maybe.

She eased herself down onto the side of the tub and relaxed, running hands up and down her arms, which were now free of the scars she received in her teens. Hopefully those events would never happen now. In a couple of months she'd change everything and save everyone.

:-:

It took Hermione an hour to get ready. She allowed herself extra time to soak in the bath to help with the phantom ache of the transition. The spell books hadn't warned her about the pain, not that it would have prevented her from going through with the transition.

Her parents were already in the kitchen when she made her way downstairs. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder as her mum made egg white omelettes and her dad put together a fruit salad. She took a moment to appreciate the way they worked: not bumping into each other, as she and Ron had done, but together in harmony.

She surprised herself by tearing up as she watched them, and hastened to dry her eyes just as her mother turned around.

"Good morning, dear. Will you set the table?"

"Oh, yes, Mum."

Hermione hurried to the silverware drawer, glad to have a distraction.

'Pull yourself together. You knew this was going to happen,' she told herself. She only had to get through a few weeks.

Her eyes glanced up to the calendar, confirming the date. August third. If she was correct on the date, today would be the day Elsie Fairweather would arrive with her Hogwarts letter.

:-:

"Almost there."

It had been a gruelling month, pretending to be young and innocent and naïve like she'd been before she'd seen real darkness. Still, Hermione had made it through to the big day: September first.

She'd tried to rush through her goodbyes on the platform, though the words left a bad taste in her mouth. The last time she'd said goodbye to her parents … well. That wouldn't be happening again.

Now she stood on the scarlet train, watching students rush passed her. She remembered the last time she been there and how small the first-years had seemed. Now it surprised her how tall everyone else was.

The train started to move, and she took that as her queue to head down the aisle in pursuit of Harry and Ron. The sooner she found them and integrated herself back into their lives, the better. It wouldn't be difficult to get to Pettigrew after that.

"Lovely day. I can see why you wanted to relive it."

Hermione cringed, whipping around to face her friend. She had to crane her neck to look at him now. He'd grown his hair out since they last saw each other, and his fringe was once again long enough to cover the scar if he arranged it just right. He wore grey robes and a tie, a passable look for a professor.

"You shouldn't be here," she told him matter-of-factly, and he smiled.

"You sound like a bossy little girl I used to know."

"Go away, Harry. This is _important_."

He grabbed her robe sleeve and pulled her into an empty compartment.

"I know, better than anyone, how important this is," he said solemnly. He pushed her down onto a bench and took a seat opposite her.

"Then why won't you let me go through with it? It could fix everything!"

He laughed humourlessly, averting his gaze to the passing scenery. "Oh, yes, let's see: kill Wormtail, first and foremost. That will delay Voldemort's return for a little while. Then what? Wait until next year, I expect. Find Gryffindor's sword and steal the journal from Ginny before things get out of hand. Once you have the sword, you'll be able to find the other horcruxes, eh?"

Hermione pursed her lips and glared at him. "Something like that."

He met her eyes. "It won't work. Fate will always find a way."

"How can you say that? He was your friend, too."

"Ron was my brother, and watching him die nearly killed me. But I can't watch you throw your life away, Hermione. Do you have any idea what it took to get Kingsley to trust me with a time turner so I could come here and stop you?" He ran a hand through his dark hair, and it was back to being untidy.

"I want to fix things just as much as you do, trust me. But when does it end? I'd go back farther; I'd stop Voldemort when he was young, before he killed Myrtle. But what happens the next time something goes wrong? My dad could get hit in the head with a bludger. Then what? I go back and tell him not to play Quidditch?"

"Just this once, and then we'll-"

"No, Hermione. No. It's a slippery slope. Ron's not the only one lost in the war. Who are we to decide who to save?"

She cried, knowing he was right and yet unable to let go.

Harry slid onto the bench beside her and wrapped a long arm about her tiny shoulders.

"It'll be alright, I promise.


End file.
